Candid Shots
by MarieKR
Summary: A series of 'drabbles' about moments in the life of the intrepid crew of the Enterprise. You might find anything from drama to H/C to friendship to humor in here. Please check it out and enjoy. (Might be heavy on the H/C.) (Ch.4: "Red".)
1. May I Die Now?

"Kirk to shuttle one, _where are you?!"_

"ETA 40 seconds, Captain," Sulu replied. "What is your situation?"

"Still under attack!"

Kirk glanced over his shoulder to see the Nakarii continuing to chase them through the long grass, firing phaser-style weapons at their backs. Running through the dense brush was slowing down the fleeing Starfleet officers, but the natives were used to it, and thus gaining quickly.

Spock ran directly behind and just slightly to the side of the Captain, reining in his greater speed to protect Kirk. The three security officers ran behind _him_, doing the same for their First Officer and the other crewmembers.

"I still hate this!" McCoy shouted, and Kirk grinned (just a tiny bit).

"I know you do!" he shouted back.

Phaser fire from above them pulled their gazes to the arriving shuttle. Sulu was the best pilot in the fleet; though it had almost been beyond his skill to get a shuttle through the oddly virulent atmosphere of the planet, he'd still managed to arrive just in time.

The phaser bursts from the shuttle vaporized a large area of the grass and pulled the pursuing Nakarii up short, their leader holding up a hand to halt her warriors. She eyed the craft as it hovered protectively over the landing party and then shouted a command to her people.

They all entered the clearing and dropped to the exposed ground, sitting on their feet with their heads bowed and their hands on their knees, weapons forgotten. Struggling to catch his breath, Kirk looked at the gasping Uhura.

"What did she say?"

"I think she just told them to surrender, Sir," was the breathless reply.

"Sound off; anybody hurt?"

Replies of "Negative," "I'm fine, Jim," and "Okay here, Captain," from his friends and simple "No Sir's" from his security team brought Kirk a relief that made him tremble for just a moment. He looked at his officers and then back at the natives, thinking. "Okay, stand down, but stay alert," he said after a moment, pulling out his communicator. "Kirk to shuttle one, Sulu, land but keep those phasers on standby."

"Aye Captain," came the reply. The shuttle repositioned and then carefully landed, flattening more grass as it came to rest next to the landing party. Two more security officers jumped out, Sulu with them. Through the shuttle viewport a third security officer could be seen hovering by the weapons control board of the shuttle.

"Are you all right, Captain?" Sulu asked.

"Yeah, we're good." A voice speaking words he did not understand brought him around, phaser lifting again slightly. One of the Nakarii was having a passionate argument with the leader; Kirk didn't know what was being said, but the exchange reminded him vividly of every time he wanted to do something reckless and Spock absolutely didn't. Gesturing to Uhura, he walked the several yards to where their former pursuers knelt.

The woman looked resigned, but the man appeared to panic at their approach. Lurching to his feet (and making the Enterprise officers train their phasers on him) he planted himself in front of his leader and threw himself at Kirk's feet. The man's face was anguished, his eyes begging as they met Kirk's.

"Vatarai," he said, his voice breaking. "Vatarai…" From the side Uhura translated.

"He said please, Captain."

"Please what?"

"I have no idea."

The woman snapped a command at her subordinate, who drew himself up again very, very slowly, kneeling once more behind her, beside another woman whose eyes were fixed on Kirk. Her gaze was wounded and furious, and the old phrase 'if looks could kill' drifted through his mind at the sight.

Haltingly, the leader spoke.

"I may die now?" Kirk was thunderstruck.

"Taa'vik," the other woman said softly. The leader cast a brief smile over her shoulder at the other, and then spoke again.

"Apology. May I die now?"

"Die? Who said anything about dying? Are you injured? _Bones_!" The doctor immediately dropped to the woman's side and began scanning her. She eyed the tricorder almost curiously, a hint of wariness in the narrowing of her brows.

"Nothing wrong with her that I can tell, Jim," McCoy said. "No obvious bleeding or anything, but I don't know much about their biological makeup."

The woman reached out and gestured to the tricorder with the back of her hand.

"This die?"

"What?"

Moving slowly, her eyes fixed on Kirk's, she loosely wrapped her fingers around McCoy's hand and pulled the edge of the tricorder against her throat.

"Die now?"

"_Ashta!_" the man said from behind her, his voice bleeding an agony that transcended language. The other woman wrapped an arm around his back, her glare intensifying.

Suddenly, Kirk got it, and he dropped to his knees as well, pulling the tricorder away from her throat, as Bones was still staring at her in shock.

"We're not going to kill you," he said slowly, clearly, hoping she could understand. Uhura translated the message from off on the side. Many of the Nakarii glanced around at each other nervously, and the woman's face paled dramatically.

"Vatarai," she begged. "Please. I die. They live." Kirk was silent for a moment, trying to understand why she was so intent on dying, and his pause upset her further. She yanked at the collar of her tunic and pulled her braided hair to the side, baring her throat. She even tilted her head to expose herself further.

"We're not killing you!" He insisted, and she shuddered, her eyes shimmering with the barest hint of tears.

"Please!" She threw her arms out in supplication. "My responsibility. My people. I give all your desire. They live."

_My crew…All I ask is that you spare them. I'll do anything you want, just please, let them live._

Now Kirk understood, and tear burned behind his eyes as well. Uhura sniffed. The woman must have seen the dismay in his eyes, the continued refusal to end her life, and she turned to those gathered with her.

"Ratak van," she said sadly. Someone in the small crowd sobbed.

Kirk recognized that too, and the apology only made the memory that much more vivid.

"Uhura help me," Kirk said, reaching out and seizing the woman by the shoulders, turning her to face him again. "Vatarai," he said forcefully, "listen. Your people will live. We did not come to kill." She frowned, glancing at Uhura as though she was uncertain she'd understood his words correctly. The translation widened her eyes as she looked at Kirk again. On impulse he removed his rank insignia and held it out to her on an upraised palm.

"No die? People live? I live?"

"Everyone lives. We wanted friendship, knowledge, trade. Peace. Vatarai?" When the translation came, the woman laughed, then reached out and took the proffered gift.

"Yes."

She pulled herself to her feet, fastening her tunic once more and turning to her people. She said something to them which shattered the tension like fragile glass, the shards felt in the hysterical edge to the relieved laughter of some, and the occasional sob of others. The Nakarii rose, looking decidedly friendlier than they had an hour before.

Smiling, the woman looked at the two who'd knelt behind her, the smile on her face not quite covering the pain of the last several minutes in her eyes. She opened her arms, and they both ran into her embrace. The other woman looked over her leader's shoulder at Kirk, who'd risen to his feet as well.

"My sister," she said softly through her tears. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome."

* * *

_Hey all!_

_Starting a bit of a 'drabble' series…not sure the 'chapters' are short enough to be drabble, though. Anyway, these won't be in any particular order and probably won't relate to each other at all, they'll just be little snippets I found in my head._

_If you want any of the full stories, let me know and I'll put telling that tale on my to-do list!_


	2. I Will Beg, Leonard

Spock didn't swear, but the sight before him almost changed that. He suddenly understood McCoy's irrepressible need to insult the Captain anytime he became hurt as his human side was suddenly inspired to call the man lying before him several uncomplimentary names.

The word he spoke instead carried the weight of all his anger, helplessness, sorrow, and fear.

"_Leonard…"_

* * *

Just five minutes earlier the doctor had been fine, if utterly worn out and absolutely at a loss for what to do. The disease running rampant through the ship had already killed more than a hundred of the crew and passengers aboard — and to make matters worse, Kirk, Checkov, and Uhura had caught it. So far maybe a quarter of those afflicted had recovered — or begun to — on their own. Most of the rest hovered in that tiny doorway between life and death. Uhura was one of the first, Checkov the second — but the third group contained just one victim, and of course it had to be the Captain.

"Damnit, Spock, it's almost like he's _allergic_ to the damn virus!"

"Is that even possible, Doctor?"

"The hell if I know! He was born in _space_, during an attack from a ship that came from a different time through a hole in said space! We already know screwed with his eye color — I have no idea what those kind of gravitational and other stresses could actually have done to him! To everyone else this is like a highly fatal form of the Orion flu — to Jim, it's practically a biochemical attack!"

Spock eyed the distressed McCoy placidly.

"I have the utmost faith in your abilities, Doctor," he said.

"Spock, the only chance I've got is if this compound M'Benga and I came up with works. But I need someone on whom to test it; I've tested it in every way I can except on a patient."

"What is the problem?" Ah, obviously Spock wasn't unfamiliar with McCoy's facial expressions.

"It's kinda like that cure for cancer at the turn of the twenty-first century. Chemotherapy worked to kill cancerous cells, but it killed a lot of healthy ones too. Someone even said that it was like 'hoping the treatment kills the disease before it kills you.'"

Spock studied him for a moment, and then turned away.

"I will see if any of the crew will volunteer."

"Just don't beg anybody."

"Vulcans do not beg."

McCoy engaged the privacy lock on the door and enforced that with a medical override as soon as Spock left. Loading a vial of the compound into a hypo he breathed deeply and then injected himself quickly, before he lost his nerve. Trembling, he set the hypo on the desk and then slid to the floor, leaning against one of its legs.

He had a couple minutes before the effects of the compound became irreversable; hence the locks, so Spock couldn't stop him. Maybe the Vulcan hadn't been paying attention after all — he'd fallen for it easily, mistaking McCoy's growing illness as fatigue.

The compound burned through his veins, and from outside he could hear Spock trying to override the locks on the door. He'd do it, soon, but McCoy had bought himself enough time. If this solution didn't work, all his notes were sitting there on the table, accessible and easy enough for Spock to read. He'd do an autopsy, figure out what went wrong, and try again. Between the two of them, Spock and M'Benga could figure it out.

If it worked, great…but the risk had just been too damn high.

Blessed cold ate through him behind the fire of the treatment, and as it stole him away Spock finally made it through the door. His last sight was the twisted, horrified expression on the First Officer's face, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, his friendship with the hobgoblin wasn't entirely one-way.

* * *

McCoy's eyes drifted closed just as the door slid open before Spock, and the sight of his friend slumping over caused a knifing sensation in his heart. He bolted to the doctor's side, noticing the pallor of McCoy's face and the used hypo on the desk.

He knew what had happened.

He knew why.

He couldn't quite believe it.

Trembling, he reached out to check for a pulse, relief throbbing within him in time with the labored heartbeat under his fingers. Shouting for M'Benga he stretched his friend out on the floor, pillowing McCoy's head on his leg. The other doctor burst in, figuring out what had happened almost as quickly as Spock had. He ran a tricorder over his boss, frowning at what he saw.

"I'll be right back with a gurney," he said. Spock shook his head and simply lifted McCoy in his arms, noticing how light the man seemed. How long had he been ill?

As Spock carried him to the one bed left open as a 'scanning only' bed (for biobeds were much more detailed than tricorders), McCoy's head fell against Spock's neck, the skin of his face touching the greener skin of the Vulcan. Impressions filtered in to Spock's mind, tiny, fleeting things that he almost couldn't identify. Pain. Resignation. A desperate struggle…and hope.

He lay the doctor down gently, and as M'Benga turned to the readouts Spock touched his fingers to McCoy's face.

_I will beg, Leonard,_ he sent through the contact. _Please, my friend; do not die._


	3. I Never Wanted This

As he left Starfleet Medical, Spock realized something.

He hadn't seen Jim Kirk since leaving Daystrom earlier. The Captain — Commander, he reminded himself — should have reported for treatment, but Spock had not observed him.

He returned to the building, stopping at the information panel just inside the door.

"Computer, has—" he paused. After the death of Admiral Pike, Kirk had technically been 'promoted' to Acting Captain of the Enterprise, but given the circumstances the computer may not have been made aware of the change. "Computer, has crewmember James T. Kirk of the Enterprise reported for medical treatment in the last five hours?"

"Negative."

"Is his current location known?"

"Negative."

Spock frowned infinitesimally. Outside of a Starship or Starbase, where sensors weren't a default requirement, the real-time locations of individuals were not followed and difficult to establish. Were Kirk's location influenced by official capacity — if he was in a meeting, hearing, or receiving treatment, for examples — the computer would have known through the scheduling programs. The fact that it was unaware of the Commander's location indicated that Kirk could be almost anywhere.

Spock was uncertain why he found this situation less than optimal; Kirk was no longer his Captain, and thus it was no longer his responsibility to keep track of Kirk's wellness and whereabouts.

However some part of him, the part that had almost responded to Kirk stating "I'm going to miss you," drove him to locate the Commander and check on him one more time.

Though evidence pointed to humans having (somewhat) less intense emotions than Vulcans, humans practically radiated their feelings where Vulcans repressed them. Spock could often feel the existence of another's emotions simply by standing in close proximity, much as he could feel their body heat. In the same way that he couldn't determine the body temperature of someone by being near them, he couldn't make out the specific emotions an individual was experiencing without actually touching them.

Thus, it surprised and concerned him when Kirk's emotional field simply vanished upon discovering Pike's death. It had flared for a moment as Kirk had seized his friend and cried into the still chest, but suddenly the tears ceased and everything else did too.

When Kirk's hand had fallen on his shoulder and squeezed it, through his uniform he managed to sense the turmoil in the Commander's mind. It was as though a pit had opened up within Kirk's psyche, sucking everything into it and leaving nothing but emptiness behind.

Spock had to admit to himself, at least, that it was a deeply uncomfortable sensation — and as a telepath, he understood that it did not bode well for Kirk's state of mind.

No one would blame him for checking up on his former Captain, he decided. It was an entirely logical course of action.

Now to find him. 

Spock's primary inclination was to check the local bars for the Commander, but the intensity of recent events led him to wonder if Kirk's usual method of unwinding would currently apply. When the Enterprise had shore leave, Kirk often found somewhere to drink and someone with whom to spend the night — or part of it — but at those times his emotional field typically pulsed with what Spock decided was either frustration or excitement. Perhaps both.

If Kirk sought company when his emotional state was stimulated, then the complete absence of it would most logically bring on a drive to remain alone. Following that conclusion he headed for the Commander's quarters — partially expecting to find the man with 'company' regardless.

A shuddering sigh greeted his ears upon chiming Kirk's door, and Spock fully expected to be turned away.

"Come in," he heard instead, the Commander's voice lacking any inflection whatsoever, something that disturbed Spock more than he was comfortable with. Kirk was a man who vibrated with emotions; the lack of them was greatly unsettling.

When awake, Kirk had two states of motion: as fast as one could possibly go, and a casual stillness that exuded confidence and surety.

What Spock saw upon entering the room was neither, and the half-Vulcan was very nearly alarmed.

"Commander?" he said, slowly approaching the man.

Kirk was sitting on his bed, absolutely and utterly still. It was not the stillness of confidence, nor was it a stillness born of waiting or relaxation. It was a paralyzed stillness, almost death-like, and Spock had never expected to see Kirk in such a state.

The former Captain turned to look at Spock, the movement almost mechanical. Kirk's vibrant blue eyes were dull, bloodshot, and partially unfocused. The Vulcan had to repress a sudden urge to summon McCoy.

"Can I ask you a really disgustingly horrible question without you strangling me again?" Kirk asked, looking at but obviously not truly _seeing_ Spock.

Taken aback slightly, the Vulcan settled into a chair by the bed, wondering why Kirk would ask such a question. Once adapted to the man's unusual phrases, styles of address, and general way of doing things, he'd realized that Kirk actually treated him with a sincere respect and…caring, something Spock was greatly unused to. He'd even apologized profusely for his comments about Amanda.

* * *

_The door chimed and Spock looked up from his attempt at meditation._

"_Come," he said with a resignation he kept out of his voice._

_When Kirk entered, Spock began to wish — illogical, but still — that he'd refused the other entry._

"_Yes, Captain?" he'd asked, shifting in preparation to stand._

"_No, stay, if you're comfortable," Kirk said, waving him back. "May I sit, actually?" He gestured at the space opposite Spock, who nodded once. "I owe you an apology, Spock. I am so sorry for the things I said to you on the bridge. I keep wishing I'd been able to think of any other way, but I didn't and I'm sorry." Spock opened his mouth to speak, but Kirk shushed him. "Wait, lemme finish. I __**know**_ _you loved your mom, Spock. It was painfully obvious, and I hope by saying that I didn't just insult you somehow. I don't think anyone has ever or will ever love their mother as much as you loved yours, and she must have been a truly wonderful person to have something like that. I'm sorry, and I swear I will never say anything like that again. I wish I hadn't done it once."_

_Spock sat in silence for a moment, stunned by Kirk's speech. His reply of 'apologies are unnecessary and illogical' died in his throat, and instead he simply said:_

"_Thank you, Captain."_

* * *

"I do not anticipate such an event happening again, Commander," he said finally. Kirk nodded absently.

"Do you ever feel like — think that — your mother died disappointed in you?" Spock's heart twisted in his side and he flinched mentally. "I'm sorry," Kirk said hurriedly, actually looking at Spock directly for the first time. "That came out horribly, completely wrong. I didn't mean—"

"Commander." Kirk's rambling ground to an abashed halt. "Perhaps it would be best if you detailed the circumstances surrounding your question to clarify your meaning."

Silence reigned for a moment.

"Do you know how I ended up in Starfleet?" Kirk asked finally.

"You were recruited by then Captain Pike," was the reply.

"D'you know how we met?"

"If rumor is to be believed, in an inebriated state you engaged him in a physical confrontation." Kirk snorted.

"Nah. The fight wasn't with him. I was hitting on Uhura, she wasn't interested but I was being persistent. Hendorff was looking for a fight anyway, and I was a great excuse. Ended up with my hands on her chest at one point — don't freak out, it actually was an accident — leading Mr. Cupcake to seriously hand me my ass. Pike broke it up, sent the cadets off, and was probably going to try and talk to me about the legal ramifications of bar fighting."

"Am I to assume the conversation did not follow the expected pattern?"

"Yeah. Bartender told him who I was, and he said something to me I'll never forget." Kirk's eyes narrowed on Spock's, the earlier blankness of expression becoming something intense and agonized. "'Your father was Captain of a Starship for twelve minutes. He saved 800 lives, including your mother's — and yours. I _dare you_ to do better.'"

The silence was suffocating, if such a thing were possible. It pressed in on Spock, and though he wasn't certain what he should say, he decided he had to say something.

"You were Captain of a Starship for one year, three months, two weeks, and six days. Technically you are Acting Captain once more. You saved those who survived the destruction of Vulcan, as well as the entirety of Earth, resulting in a total of more than eight billion people. I believe you have surpassed your father's legacy."

"I never wanted to be Captain over Pike's dead body," Kirk said softly, his eyes unfocused again, aimed at the wall behind Spock. "My father died a hero. Pike died because I screwed up, but he was a hero too. If I dropped dead right now—" though he wasn't looking at Spock anymore, he must have sensed the Vulcan's immediate concern, because he smiled ruefully for a moment, "—don't worry, I'm not planning on driving off a cliff anytime soon. But if I died, I'd die a screw-up, Spock.

"What causes change?" Kirk continued. The apparent non-sequitur surprised Spock enough that he had no response. Kirk didn't seem to need one. "There's got to be something that really truly causes change, permanent change. I never changed; I'm the same dumb shit with a freakishly high IQ that Pike convinced to join Starfleet."

"You stopped Nero—"

"I did what had to be done. That's always how I've been: if it has to be done, do it; if it can be avoided, avoid it; if it's meaningless, do it and try to have fun. Pike was right to tell me that I wasn't ready for the chair, and now I'm not certain if I ever will be. I thought I had a life to be proud of, but I was wrong. I haven't been living the kind of life that I'd want my dad to see if he were alive. I didn't even want Pike to see it most of the time!" Kirk's voice choked slightly. "You know what I'd be doing right now if he weren't dead, Spock? I'd probably be half-dressed with some chick who fell for century-old pickup lines. I think the only reason why I'm not is because anytime I even _think_ of doing something like that I feel sick."

The emotional field around Kirk was back, but it felt entirely opposite of how Spock usually sensed others. Typically the emotions repelled him, like magnets put like-ends together; this felt like Kirk's turmoil was sucking everything around it in and crushing it. Kirk spoke again, the biting words fading into a quiet dismay.

"Pike died disappointed in me. I screwed up, I let him down, I embarrassed and upset and _hurt_ him. _But he came back for me._ I don't understand it, Spock. He was disappointed, but he fought tooth and nail to give me a second chance. I failed him, and he still came to my rescue." The red, weary, agonized eyes of Jim Kirk fixed on the calmer brown ones of his former First Officer. "I think I've been changed now. I didn't change, it changed me. I feel different, and I don't know how to describe any of it. I thought I was a better man. I wanted to be a better man. I thought Starfleet would force that, would change me for me." Spock's heart was racing in reaction to Kirk's distress, the Vulcan struggling madly to keep his outward appearance impassive as everything the young man was feeling bled copiously from his eyes.

"I never wanted Pike to die for it to happen."

Spock was beginning to understand the motivation behind Kirk's ineptly worded question.

"Jim," he said softly, bracing himself for the still-fresh pain of loss that would come with sharing this particular memory, "Vulcans have a cultural practice known as Kholinar. It is the purging of all emotion, becoming a creature of absolute logic. I once sought to master this practice, but before doing so I approached my mother to make sure that she did not see my actions as a rejection of her or a judgment upon her." Kirk watched him with curious interest, the emotion a temporary balm over the roiling hurt within him. "She told me something which _I_ will never forget: 'Whatever you choose to be, you will have a proud mother.'" He paused, hesitating before offering his next thought. "I am certain that Admiral Pike, _and_ your father, were he alive, would have a similar sentiment regarding you."

Kirk's mouth worked for a minute, lost for words for the first time since Spock had met him. His gaze wandered around the room, mouth still half-open before he finally looked at Spock again.

"Thanks."

The simple reply was magnified by the significantly less anguished expression on Kirk's face. The emotional maelstrom ebbed somewhat, and a very human instinct told Spock that Kirk needed to be alone. Spock inclined his head in reply before rising gracefully.

"Should you have further need of a 'listening ear,' I have excellent hearing," Spock said. At the door he stopped, turning to look at the still-seated Commander/Acting Captain. "And I respectfully suggest that you report to Medical for an examination. It would be most unfortunate if you became unwell."

Kirk didn't answer, studying the wall again absently as Spock left. The raging ache he felt had eased somewhat, its strength lessened by the fact that _Spock_ of all people thought Pike and his father would've been proud of him. The loss still burned, however, and Kirk was still sitting on the bed, fighting the flames in his heart when Scotty summoned him.

Hurt could be handled later. Khan had to be dealt with _now._

* * *

_So this one was WAYY too long to count as a drabble, I think, but I hope you liked it anyway. Reminder, if any of these seem really good to you, let me know and I'll try to expand it into a full story (though I don't think that would really work with THIS one.)_

_I will admit I'm getting rather discouraged in the TrekFic department. __My stargate fanfics produce more in the way of reviews than my Trek ones, but 'Gate gets less readers. Are Trekkies/Trekkers simply less vocal, or is my Trek writing not as good? If you read both fandoms, do let me know what you think, and how I can improve._


	4. Red

**TRIGGER WARNING: Cutting**

* * *

Were he anyone else, tears would have welled up behind his eyes, fallen down his face, pooled around him with the force of his grief.

So many dead.

His responsibility, his fault. He was _alive_, and they were not. It was too terrible a thing to bear.

He spun the knife around in his fingers, feeling the cool, smooth metal of the blade and the relative warmth of the wrapped handle. This part was new, the hesitation; there had never been so much to atone for all at once.

Running his hand over his bare thigh he quested for the perfect spot to begin —

— and drew the first line.

The blood flowing down his skin formed the pool on the tiles that his tears could not, staining the cold shower floor. He'd turn the sonics on later, remove the evidence, take his personal dermal regenerator to his wounds. No one would know.

Three cuts for every person he'd failed.

One to remember them.

One to punish himself for their loss.

One to punish himself again.

He knew cutting wouldn't change anything. More than anyone else, he knew it wouldn't help in the long run. He knew he shouldn't be doing it, that Starfleet would have a fit if they knew.

But he couldn't stop. He'd carve their very names into his skin, but he knew there would never be enough room.

His vision blurred, his hand shaking as he marked each off.

Names he knew: Hendorff, Giotto.

Names he didn't: Lucy O'Brien, K'Tash Va'gna.

Names from the past: Amanda Grayson.

Names he loved: Nyota, Bones, Scotty, Spock —

_Spock._ The sticky, red-streaked blade was torn from his grip and sent skittering across the tiles. Large, pale green hands with long fingers covered his naked thighs in a manner that would have been indecent were he not covered in his own blood. Dark eyes and dark hair wavered in front of him, lips moving with words he could not hear. The pool of blood seemed more like a lake, spreading out to stain Spock's knees where he knelt.

_They're not deep._ The First Officer's eyebrows shot up as though the words had been spoken aloud. _I never cut very deep._

Another pair of knees splashed into his blood, another pair of eyes widening at the sight of him. He watched as the new hands attached small metal strips to his hips and knees, the flickering light of a force-bandage sealing his wounds.

So many cuts.

He glanced over at the PADD lying by his side, its screen splashed with blood. Through the congealing fluid he could still see the name flashing at the bottom, the very last name on the list of those lost.

He'd gotten there. He'd finished. Three cuts for every person dead because of him.

There were thousands, and he bled for all of them.

He hadn't needed to cut deeply, he realized as all the red faded to black. They could've been papercuts, and he'd still be lost.

There were just too many.

* * *

_Not thinking this is my best one, but I wanted it out of my head, given my own psycho-emotional cravings lately. _

_Sorry I've been gone so long, guys: I'll get back on Vulcan Justice and Wormhole as soon as possible. Shit hit the fan here, and I've only just started being able to put it all back together (which was pretty traumatizing itself.) I do feel bad, but I've been working and sleeping pretty much all the time — Skipping meals and everything. :/_

_Will try and reply to reviews and such personally ASAP. Please bear with me, though._

_Life is hard._

_But God is good and fanfiction is fun, right?_


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